


Taking Chances

by CarnivalOfRust



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, how they got together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnivalOfRust/pseuds/CarnivalOfRust
Summary: It starts in Tottenham.





	Taking Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esparafuso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esparafuso/gifts).



> This is me taking a brief break from my main story, but rest assured that I´m going back to writing Chapter Ten immediately.
> 
> This one-shot is for the talented Esparafuso who, among other things, does some wonderful art for this pairing which I´ve had the pleasure of admiring on Tumblr. Since I imagine it takes some time to create all the things, handling requests and such, I wanted to try and give a little back. In case you are reading this, you are amazing and I hope you like this story.
> 
> As always, anyone is welcome to talk to me on Tumblr (user name: goats-guts-and-glory)

Sometimes it felt like Gareth had known Luka for longer than anyone else, which, as far as his job was concerned, was actually the case.

Their first encounter in Tottenham, dating back a rough decade, had involved an awkward handshake and the Welshman´s misconception that his future teammate was already fluent in English. The young Croatian had politely listened to him as Gareth mumbled a few words of greeting and, in pursuit of making a good impression and showing interest in the other, ended his introduction with a question. Luka had nodded, giving the hand in his grasp a last shake and turning away when Gareth had finished, seemingly unwilling to react to the query, and the Spurs player had battled a few moments of irritation before the man who had introduced them to each other filled him in.

That could have been the end of it, but time tends to leave its traces, and they grew closer in those four years in Tottenham, one of the more ambitious English clubs who were denied success again and again. Gareth would have called them friends, good friends even, and he felt more than a little twinge of unrest when Luka´s intention to leave England for a sunnier place became a firm fixture in reality. Still, he refused to voice anything but encouragement; after all, his friend´s future was nobody´s business but his own.

“Don´t sulk” Luka had said the day he was formally seen off by his colleagues, “we´re not finished. I´m willing to bet on it.” Gareth had laughed and given his friend a brief hug, writing the reassurance off as an attempt to soften the blow of Luka´s departure. Friendship, he figured, was difficult to uphold against time and distance.

The year that followed was characterised more by Luka´s absence in their midfield than anything, and Gareth really should have known better than to assume this observation would not change anything. As it was, he juggled expectations and offers from different clubs until his decision had matured into the realisation that Spain was going to be his destination. In hindsight, that could have been his second clue.

Luka was the first of his new colleagues (and the last of his old teammates, if one was meticulous about it) to greet him at the unfamiliar training grounds in Madrid. They picked up where they left off nearly seamlessly. Gareth listened intently as Luka tried to impart every last ounce of his collected experience in the capital to him at once, but he found his attention wandering, absently appreciating the way Luka seemed more energetic somehow, practically glowing after a year under the Spanish sun.

“Sounds great” he interjected when Luka paused to swipe some of his hair behind his ears, “seems like you´ve made the right choice in coming here.” And if his tongue curled around the bitter taste of his remark, that was for him alone to swallow.

“Yes” said the Croatian with a crooked smile, leaving Gareth to dumbly stare at his friend before snapping out of his stupor when Luka continued. “And I´m glad you decided to come here as well.”

“Me too, man. Me too” Gareth mumbled when Luka turned away, indicating that he should follow him with a wave of his hand. There were others, he recalled, new faces whose names he forgot as soon as he turned his back, who would only stick in his mind weeks later, when his brain had become attuned to Spanish sounds and words. Amidst the chaotic days of his arrival, Luka stuck out as a constant source of familiarity, a beacon which he shamelessly used as a guide and comfort, and the midfielder never wavered in his support.

Gareth was slow to acclimatise, not least because of their coach´s reluctance to place him in the starting squad right from the beginning which was equally understandable and exasperating. He knew that such a place had to be earned, but surely his unprecedented transfer fee alone should have motivated the management to secure him a plethora of chances to prove himself. But competition grew rampant in the confines of the club, and had he not found a few precious willing ears into which he could vent his frustration, his stay in Madrid might have been cut short. Instead, he gained a spot in their ranks and became a good friend to many of them.

Luka, however, somehow seemed to stand apart from the rest to him, and it took him even more time to wrap his mind around the reason.

“I bet you can´t hit that goal from here” Luka exclaimed during a break of their training session that day, rolling a ball over his foot and under it in an undulating motion that made Gareth dizzy just from trying to follow up. Squinting, he raised his eyes to the goal to which his friend was pointing lazily.

“That’s not so far.”

“Yes, but it´s a very tight angle.”

Gareth nodded slowly. “What do I get if I score?”

“I don´t know” Luka looked taken aback, “you could just go for it.”

“Where´s the fun in that?” The Welshman looked around, and his eyes fell on Nacho who was standing a few feet apart from them, trying to balance two balls on his arms while Marcelo cheered him on. “If I do it you´ll have to, hm… You´ll have to get Nacho to kiss you.” It was the first thing came to him after a few embarrassing seconds of absolute blankness, but Luka failed to be impressed by the bold suggestion.

“What, that´s all?” The midfielder shrugged, gesturing towards the goal. “Just a kiss though, right? Nothing weird?”

“Yes” Gareth said, wondering whether he should have opted for something else before all distractions faded from his mind as he lined up his shot.

The ball nestled into the net in a beautiful curve that had Luka whistling through his teeth in reluctant recognition. “Not bad” he acknowledged with the tiniest hint of resignation as he stretched to pat Gareth´s shoulder.

“Thanks” the striker replied. “You´re up.”

Luka rolled his eyes, ambling up to Nacho who was still trying to control his balls with limbs that should have been off limits for a man of his profession. They exchanged a few words, and Gareth watched smugly as Nacho raised his eyebrow at Luka´s words, glancing over to Gareth who waved cheerfully.

He did not expect the rush of… something coursing through the vague region of his stomach, something hot and angry and demanding, something that overcame him the moment Nacho bent forward to press his lips against Luka´s cheek. It was an innocuous gesture, affectionate and friendly, but even so, Gareth found himself very preoccupied by the sudden surge of rage coiling around his intestines.

“There you go” Luka told him upon returning, “are you satisfied?”

“Yes” Gareth ground out through his teeth, and if Luka noticed his strange behaviour, he chose not to comment on the Welshman´s abrupt change of mood. This was fine by Gareth as it allowed him more time to process the sudden awareness that had washed over his being. But even as the striker tried to come to terms with this unexpected insight into his changed behaviour, he knew that trouble was just around the corner, approaching with a raised hand poised to knock on his door. Life was about to get very complicated.

 

 

Gareth kept his distance throughout the following days, latching more onto his other teammates than usual. Nobody seemed particularly bothered by this, and the Welshman congratulated himself on his subtle handling of the situation.

“Why are you avoiding me?” asked Luka after a week, effectively ruining his self-delusion.

“What-… I´m not-… How´d you get that idea?”

“We´ve barely talked, and not for my lack of trying.”

“… I was busy.”

“What about yesterday´s lunch? Two free seats, and you choose to sit next to Sergio?”

“I like him, alright? He´s not so bad!”

“Have you even spoken to Sese? Apart from during training, I mean.”

“In fact, I have-…”

“I´m not one to tell you where to sit, but this is highly unusual behaviour from you and I…” Luka sighed. “I guess I want to make sure you weren´t… angry at me or something.”

“Why would I be angry at you?” Gareth asked, baffled by the notion. They were warming up side by side as their colleagues trailed onto the pitch one by one, stretching and shuffling at the side line.

Luka shrugged, reaching out to steady himself on Gareth´s shoulder as he hopped onto one foot. “I have no idea, but I figured there must´ve been a reason for you to act so strangely.”

The striker stilled, acutely aware of the fingers digging into his shoulder, of his friend´s warm presence at his side. He was trying to focus on the older man´s words, in fact, he was trying so hard that he flinched when Luka shook him out of his trance.

“Hey, are you listening?”

“Uh, yes. Yes.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

Luka´s nose scrunched up in a look of disgruntled confusion, and Gareth wanted to swipe his finger across the narrow ridge of his nose.

“About another bet?”

“… What kind of bet?”

“Well…” Luka gestured towards the ball at his feet. “I bet you can´t juggle three of these at once for longer than five seconds.”

“Watch me.” Gareth pushed away from Luka, laughing as the Croatian flailed to keep his balance, and marvelled at the ease with which he was able to conduct their banter. “What are the stakes?”

“You tell me” Luka said, raising an eyebrow when Gareth nearly crashed into the railing surrounding the pitch as ideas flooded his mind, nearly all of which he immediately dismissed.

“How about” he finally rasped, stunned at his own audacity, “if I win, how about you try and get me to do something I don´t want to do?”

“That doesn´t sound like something you´d actually want out of a win” Luka observed, flopping down to stretch his legs and reach for his toes. Gareth´s eyes followed the long line of his curved back, and he clenched his fingers into fists, accepting the sting of his nails biting into his palms as a welcome distraction.

“I don´t know” he managed to get out with just enough nonchalance to sound believable, “could be fun watching you fail.”

“And if I win, _when_! I win, what do I get?”

“The honour of lording your victory over me, how does that sound?”

“Meh, I´ll take it.” Luka stepped back, crossing his arms expectantly, and Gareth awkwardly fumbled three balls into his arms.

“Arms are allowed, right?”

“Arms, knees, shoulders, just keep your hands clean.”

Gareth failed miserably on his first try, protesting to get another go until Luka nodded at him graciously. A few of their teammates clapped when the Welshman repeated the trick and, by some miracle, managed not to trip up when he lost control of two of his balls, bouncing to the ground and through his legs on their merry way.

“That was more than five seconds, right?” he panted, grinning when Luka turned his thumb towards the sky. His smile froze when Luka pushed himself off the railing, arms stretched in a welcoming gesture.

“Alright, come here, let´s get it over with.”

“What?”

“Give me a kiss.”

“A-… _what_?”

“A kiss” Luka repeated patiently. “You said I had to get you to do something you wouldn’t want. As it stands, we can do this the easy or the hard way.”

“I´m don´t-… want to _kiss_ you” Gareth protested desperately, forcing himself not to scramble backwards in panic when Luka approached him. _Liar_ , his mind whispered at him, _coward_.

“I know, that´s the whole point.” The midfielder was nearly upon him when Gareth decided that he valued his dignity over whatever Luka had in mind for him. He turned, intent on jogging back on the field, but he was not prepared for the man to tackle him, clinging to his back like a demanding toddler.

“You are not going to get away that easily” Luka warned his friend after Gareth shook him off in surprise, “you´re only making it more difficult for yourself.” Gareth shot forward as Luka latched onto his jacket, using the Welshman´s bafflement to yank him down.

“Just-… give-… up-… already” Luka grunted, managing to drag his colleague´s face to his level and turning his head to the side, glaring at him from the corner of his eyes. “Just plant one on me and we´re done, okay? I mean, I could ambush you later but I´m not keen on the wait, you know?”

It was a guy thing. A matter of pride. You made a bet, you won or lost and you had to bear the consequences. There was no bargaining, no negotiating, but Gareth wished he had laid out his terms before this mess in which he found himself. He stared at the Croat, at the cheek with which he was presented, at the thin neck peeking out from his training jacket, the floppy hair sticking out from the midfielder´s weird hairband he liked to use to keep it out of his way.

“Gaz” Luka prompted him, and his nose twitched in irritation.

Gareth watched his own hands travel up on their own accord, felt them slide around the older man´s sharp jaw and tilt the irritated face fully towards him, saw the world shift around him in a blur as he brought his own face down to meet the Croatian in an angry kiss, years of subliminal frustration finally demanding recognition.

His moment of courage (because he was too proud to call it idiocy) was cut short when Luka pushed against his chest, jerking backwards as if Gareth had tried to bite his tongue off. This was not the case, although there had been some involvement of tongues and teeth and Gareth was already aching at the thought of what had been taken away from him a second ago.

“What-… Gaz, what the hell.” Luka´s eyes were darting around, towards his colleagues, towards the press who had taken the usual spot at their designated corner of the field. Since Gareth had been standing with his back turned towards the camera´s, they could be reasonably sure that he had concealed their little exchange enough not to warrant uncomfortable questions in their next interview. At the moment, however, Gareth could not have cared less about the possibility of observers.

“I´m-… sorry, I don´t know what came over me-…”

“This? This is the moment you chose? Really, I thought there was some sense behind that thick skull of yours.” Luka shook his head, snatching one of Gareth´s ears and twisting it. The Welshman´s hand shot up, snatching his wrist in alarm before he realised that the older man had no intention of inflicting serious damage. Then his brain caught up with Luka´s words.

“The moment, what? What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“You moron” Luka said fondly, grabbing his arm and tugging him towards the entrance to the training facilities. “Come on, we still have some time before training officially starts. Let´s talk.”

Gareth nodded dumbly, feeling like he could do with some talking, but with every step he took towards the building a ton of invisible weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. He had made a first step towards a future he had not even dared to contemplate, and he had a feeling that rejection did not feature on the way. Everything else could wait.


End file.
